Return to Miami
by Kasorin
Summary: Six months after Fiona turned herself in to the FBI, Michael has finally gotten her back. But the six months they spent apart changed her more than any such seperation had ever before.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: I do not owe Burn Notice or its characters. They belong to Matt Nix and USA Network. Chapters will be told in alternating points of view. Unless stated otherwise, a chapter will have the same POV as the one before it.

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><p><strong>Michael.<strong>

"You really owe me this time, Westen." Agent Pierce sighed and pulled off her glasses. "It took a lot of strings to get your girlfriend out of the FBI's clutches. They don't like just handing over someone with her file even to the CIA."

"Thank you." I replied automatically.

"Seriously, Michael. The CIA isn't happy that I claimed an ex-IRA guerilla as an asset. So you better keep her on a tight leash for the next couple of months, for my sake."

I gave her my best smile. "Thank you, Agent Pierce."

"Go. She's in the lobby." She waved her hand at me and picked back up her glasses again.

I nodded once and swept out of the room. Fiona was in the lobby with a man in a dark suit. A covert operative of some type, I assumed, considering he was holding Fi's elbow tightly. She was staring at the white marble floor in front of her feet and not trying to pull her arm free. Pausing for a moment just outside of the elevator, I sighed.

"Fi." I said softly as I approached them.

She lifted her head to gaze at me, still silent. The agent let go of her elbow, and I wrapped an arm around Fi's shoulder, guiding her out of the building and into the summer heat. Fi didn't slide an arm around my waist, something that she would have readily done six months earlier when she had turned herself into the FBI for what Ansem had framed her for.

I opened the passenger door to the Charger, and Fi slid in. She still hadn't said a word, not even when I pulled out of the parking lot and onto the street. As I directed the charger back towards my loft, I studied her carefully. Fi was thinner than she had been when I had last seen her, and her hair hung limply around her shoulders. It's usual gloss and shine was gone, as was the makeup that she normally wore. Not that I expected the CIA to have given her access to a makeup kit after they got her out of federal prison, but for Fi not even to look in her purse for a lipstick, it was enough to cause some worry.

"Fi," I started, waiting for a light to turn green.

She didn't look up from where her hands were folded in her lap. "Michael…" Her voice came as a whisper.

"Are you alright, Fi?" The light changed, and I pressed on the gas pedal.

"I spent the last six months in federal prison, Michael." She responded, the usual fire gone from her voice.

I sighed and turned a corner. A minute later, I pulled up outside the gate to where my loft was and hopped out to undo the chain. Fi stayed in the car even after I turned it off and moved to the fencing to lock it shut again. With a frown, I opened the passenger side door and held out my hand. She took it hesitantly and let me help her out of the charger.

She walked ahead of me up to the loft and sank onto the bed once we were inside, looking around with the same half-dead look on her face that she had been wearing all morning.

"Fi…" I started and sat down next to her.

She turned towards me and punched me in the stomach, hard. I groaned and doubled over, not expecting her to hit so hard this early.

"Why did you leave me there so long?" Fi snapped.

"Because, Fi," I said, straightening with another groan. "Agent Pierce needed time to get things arranged. She had to first look into Ansem."

"So?" Fi scowled at me.

"So, after she looked into him, we had to pull the framework he was setting up loose again. Which took some time. Then she had to get paperwork together to prove that you weren't even in Miami at the time of the explosion at the consulate. And get that to the FBI, and convince them to release you, and that you weren't a terrorist."

Fi reach for me again, and I tightened my muscles in anticipation for another blow. Instead she wrapped her arms around my neck and tucked her face against my shoulder. I reached up to run my fingers through her hair and pulled her closer to me with the other arm. She slid into my lap and held on tighter. Twin spots of dampness sprouted on my shoulder. Not saying anything, I pulled Fi closer and buried my own face into her hair.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: So, I'm back in college now. This semester I am student teaching, so while I have a few more chapters completed as a buffer, there may be periods of a few days between uploads, depending on how much grading and lesson planning I have.

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><p>The door to the loft banged open. Without missing a beat, Fi pulled the gun from my waistband and spun to point it towards the door, directly at Sam.<p>

"Fiona!" He laughed nervously, raising both hands into the air. "It's nice to see you again."

"Put the gun down Fi." I murmured into her ear. "Sam hasn't done anything."

"Yet." She grumbled as a response, and slowly lowered the gun.

"So, Agent Pierce was successful in getting you out of prison?" Sam asked, pulling up a chair to sit in.

"Would I be here if she hadn't been?" Came the acidic reply.

I tightened my arm around Fiona's waist, a warning to play nice that she probably was going to ignore anyway. Sam gave another nervous chuckle and locked his eyes on me, as if that would protect him from Fiona if she really wanted to hurt him. If I was lucky, I would be able to.

"Is there something that you want, Sam?" I sighed.

Fiona had discreetly wiped her eye on my shirt collar as she grabbed the gun, but since she was still holding it, there was no doubt that she would probably shoot Sam if he made any mention of her crying. Hopefully if she did shoot him, it would just be his knee or foot, nothing life threatening.

"Well, yeah. Mikey, you remember Elsa right?"

"Your spa owner girlfriend?" I did. Sam had convinced her that I should get a full body massage soon after the FBI had taken Fi into custody. If he brought up the massage, Fi would shoot him for sure.

"Yeah. Well, she had this client that she sees from time to time. Poor girl got beat up pretty bad by her stepdad about a year ago. It ended up paralyzing her, but she still goes in to see Elsa. Now the girl's mother isn't answering phone calls, for the past two weeks. Which has never happened. And the girl is scared that her stepdad has done something."

"And you told Elsa that I could help." I sighed.

"well, more like I said I could help, and that I knew this guy who was really great with the evil step-father stuff, so…"

Fi slid discreetly off of my lap, her finger still on the trigger of my gun.

"And, now that Fi's back, maybe she could help too. With the girly stuff."

"And what makes you think that I would want to do this girly stuff?" She demanded.

I snatched the gun from her and blocked a punch. Fi glared at me and reached for the gun.

"Well, you are a girl, Fi." Sam continued.

"Thanks for noticing." She snarled.

"Alright. Both of you." I cut in loudly, but my eyes were on Fi.

Though she was lunging for Sam like she would have before everything with Ansem had happened, I could see in her eyes that her usual spark wasn't there. She was only trying to keep up appearances around him. I made a mental note to get whatever had happened at the prison out of her the moment Sam left. It would probably involve her giving me several bruises.

"Please, Michael." Sam said. "Elsa is a very special lady to me, and she's really worried about this girl."

"Don't beg Sam. It's not becoming." Fi said in her fake sweet voice.

"Alright. Fine." I said with a sigh.

"Great! We're meeting her at her spa in 45 minutes. Think the two of you can make it there?"

"We'll make it, Sam."

He bounded to his feet and out of the loft. Slowly, I released my grip on Fi's arm, waiting for her to take a swing at me. Instead she rose to her feet and headed in the direction of the bathroom.

"I'm getting a shower." She called over her shoulder, and yanked the door shut behind her.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. After Agent Pierce had called me into her office, I had felt some glimmer of hope that I would finally get Fi back. When she had actually turned Fi over to me, I was elated. But Fi had changed in the six months she had been gone, perhaps more than she ever had the times when I had been gone myself, when Vaughn had taken me, and when I had first gone back to DC. Yet I was still holding onto the hope that she would be back to her normal feisty self in the next couple of days. Maybe if I let her shoot this girl's stepfather…


	3. Chapter 3

It was nice having hot water pound down on my shoulders. Michael's loft never had seemed to have perfect water pressure to me before, but compared to the drizzle of frigid water in the prison, I loved it. Six months of being behind bars, with the guards whacking me with their sticks if they thought that I had looked at them wrong. One arm had been broken twice, the other once.

I preferred fighting back and getting the bruises or the broken bones to letting them drag me down to the basement where they had a scummy mattress set up. The first three weeks when I had still been in the custody of the FBI had been the best. There I got decent food, and they ignored me when they were not pumping me for information.

At the other prison, my hair color and length had gotten the other women to beat me up on occasion. The fact that I was not an American citizen led to more fights, which usually ended in a hard whack of the guard's stick to my abdomen.

But that morning, when the guards would have been lining us up to get a disgusting bowl of colorless slop for what they called breakfast, they had come straight to the cell I shared with the one girl in the place who didn't seem to loathe me. They had fasted handcuffs around both of our wrists, with our hands sticking out between the bars before opening the door. Then to my surprise, they had undone my cuffs and pulled me away from the wall. The cuffs had of course been redone, trapping my hands behind me as they marched me down the hallway and out.

They never strapped handcuffs on us if they wanted to drag us down to the basement, or between rooms. Even the month I spent in solitary had not been led up to by handcuffs.

I had been yanked silently to a transport van and strapped in, alone. Some guard or another climbed in on the other side of the metal screen with a box, and the van pulled away from the prison. During the ride, I must have fallen asleep because the next thing I knew, I was yanked down from the van. Keeping my eyes on the ground in front of me, I inspected the three pairs of legs that seemed to be waiting for me. Two black slacks with matching perfectly shined shoes, and a pair of black pumps on the third.

Inside the cool air-conditioned building, they marched me into an elevator, and then down to some room. Only the woman entered with me, shutting the door firmly behind us. I finally lifted my head, expecting another interrogation room.

Instead, it was Agent Pierce with a cardboard box that she set on the table before pulling the blinds over the window.

"In here should be everything that you had with you when you went to the FBI. Get dressed and got into the hallway. One of the agents outside will take you to the lobby where you will wait for me to finish with Michael. Do me a favor, and don't blow anything significant up over the next couple of months." Agent Pierce nodded to me and left me alone in the room.

I could not bring myself to look at Michael when he had taken me from the agent; could not bring myself to look up during the drive to his loft. I was afraid that I would start crying, or do something else completely embarrassing like throwing my arms around his neck. Punching him had seemed like a good idea, but it had ended up with me throwing my arms around him and crying. Though it had helped to confirm that it wasn't a dream, unlike the dozen or so others I had had over the last six months.

With a sigh, I turned off the water to the shower and stepped out. My hair dripping down my back, I slipped back out into Michael's loft, clutching a towel around me. Ignoring him, I pulled clothes out from the drawer and slid into them. Michael slid his hands around my waist. I turned to face him and he wrapped the towel around my hair, squeezing out the water. He tossed it over a chair and turned me around to work a comb through the tangled ends.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Right. The previous chapter was Fi's point of view, as is this one. I forgot to label it…

"Fi, what happened in the prison?" Michael asked as I pulled on my shoes.

"I was locked up. Fed horrible food." I shrugged.

"And beaten." Michael caught my eye. "You have bruises, Fi."

"They're old." I said tensely. "Can we go and get this stupid meeting of Sam's over with?"

Michael sighed, and then nodded slowly. He slipped his hand into mine and led the way down the metal stairs to the charger. I leaned against the car and watched as he pulled the metal fencing open. When he turned back towards me, I saw the glimmer of concern still in his eyes. Rolling my eyes, I pushed off the side of the car and opened the door. If he found out what really had happened while I was in the prison, he would want to do something to the guards that had been the worst. All I wanted was to forget what had happened.

He took my hand once he got into the car and squeezed my fingers before pulling out onto the street. We both kept silent on the drive to Elsa's spa, with Michael taking my hand at every single stop light. Each time that he did so, I yanked my hand away even though he always recaptured it. Pulling my hand away was always something that I did before, and I wanted him to stop being such a worry-wart. Worrying was not like him at all.

I made sure that I was up and out of the car by the time Michael had shifted it into park and turned off the engine. Behind me, he sighed audibly, but followed me into the reception hall. Standing just inside the doors, I gazed at the fake bamboo walls and floors, with zebra printed chairs arranged to take up most of the entrance space. A long counter, made also of faux bamboo, cut off one side where a bored receptionist was filing her nails.

Sam stood by the zebra chairs with an older blonde woman, who I assumed to be the ever elusive Elsa. With them sat a pale, scared looking college girl in a wheelchair with a boy who seemed to only be a year or two older than her. Letting out a sigh of my own, I made my way over to the quartet.

"Fi, Michael." Sam greeted us. "Elsa, you remember Michael, right?"

The blonde woman murmured her agreement. When had Michael met her?

"And this must be Fiona." She purred, and offered me her hand.

Reluctantly I took it, flicking a glance over my shoulder to Michael.

"Oh, you poor thing!" Elsa cried, examining my fingers. "Your fingernails are in horrible condition. And they didn't let you get good hair care products where you were did they?" She moved towards one of the doors, towing me with her. "Well, we'll just have to take care of that won't we? I'll get one of the girls to trim off those nasty dead ends and get you a deep conditioning treatment."

She pulled me through one of the doors.

"Excuse me," I started.

Elsa nudged me into a chair. "Sammy and Michael can take care of Mary's needs just fine on their own. I'm sure Sammy will fill you in later."

"Sammy?" I muttered under my breath.

"How long have you known him?" She gushed, motioning another woman over.

"Years." I said carefully.

"Well, I'll just leave you here with Fate." Turning to the woman with fire truck hair she continued. "Take care of her hair and nails, will you Fate?"

Rolling my eyes, I positioned myself on the chair and resolved to ignore the woman.


	5. Chapter 5

**Michael**

I was shocked that Fi went along with Elsa so willingly. While Sam didn't seem to have paid attention, I knew that she normally would have hit someone who tried to drag her off somewhere without her say so. With a sigh, I turned back to the two college kids and looked at them.

"So you think your step-father killed your mother?" I asked the girl.

She blinked and swallowed. "Yes."

"What is your name?" I asked, lowering myself gingerly onto a nearby zebra chair.

"Mary." She pushed her bangs out of her eyes.

"So, tell me why you think he killed her."

She batted at her bangs again. "When I was five, my dad died. That's actually how I met Sam." She glanced at him. "After a few different boyfriends that never lasted long, she met Sam. I was twelve. Then they broke up, which was the worst, I think. Sam was always my favorite of her boyfriends. I was fourteen when she met my step-father, and they got married a year later.

"Two months after their wedding day, he started hitting her. Me, when he was drunk enough. When I was sixteen, he ran over me with the car when he went really on a bender. I spent a year in the hospital, and in recovery hospitals. At that point, Jim's parents declared themselves my legal guardians, and I moved in with them.

"I've spoken to my Mom nearly every day since then. Until three weeks ago when she stopped returning my calls. Then two weeks ago, her phone stopped being on, stopped being able to connect. It wouldn't even go to voice mail. And, the police won't do anything, since she's an adult, and my step-father claims that she went to visit her grandmother in Ireland." Mary paused to take a breath.

"I didn't realize Sarah had Irish blood." Sam said.

Mary flinched. "She doesn't."

"Mary, why didn't you call me?" He asked, touching her shoulder.

The girl looked like she wanted to hit him. Sensing the same thing that I did, the boy rose to his feet.

"Because, you were the only one of them that made my mother happy, and then you left. And you were the only one of them that I liked."

Sam blinked. "Oh. I'm sorry kiddo. I didn't want to leave your mom. You're a great kid, but…"

"Things didn't work out. I know. That's always what happens, and why people break up." She sighed. "Oh, I'm sorry. That's Jim, by the way." She motioned to the boy. "I met him when I was at the hospital after my step-father tried to kill me."

When Fiona talked so matter of fact about death, it didn't bother me much. She threatened to kill me all the time, and I knew what she had been through. Who she had lost in Ireland. But with this girl, who wasn't even twenty, her calmness about her step-father's murder attempt was almost scary. Someone that young shouldn't need to be that used to death. Not where there wasn't a full scale war going on around the person.

"Mikey" Sam prodded.

I lifted my eyes from the marble tiles.

"Where can we find your step-father?" I asked. "And we'll need your mother's contact information too, just in case."

"So you can run phone records or something?" She pulled a notebook out of her purse. "I already wrote it all down. If he did kill my mother, I want him gone. Not locked away in prison gone, but…"

"Dead gone." I sighed. "I don't kill people."

"But!"

"Hey, Mary, relax. Mikey just said that he doesn't kill people. She'd probably be willing to." Sam said soothingly, nodding at Fiona who was approaching us. "Actually, judging by the scowl on her face, she's already in a murderous mood."

I sighed. Hopefully, Sam was right; though I highly doubted it. Fiona would never get angry over a free makeover. Missing a meeting with a client because the client's friend had dragged her off, was another story. I didn't want to believe that the six months had changed her that much. Fiona slipped up to me and slid a hand around my arm, any look of anger gone from her face. She smiled sweetly at Mary, and leaned her cheek against me.

"Can I have your number, Mary, so I can contact you with what I find out?"

She held out the sheet of paper. "It's already on the paper. Along with Jim's number, and our address. He and I are living in his parent's guest house, so you'll have to ask the butler about it. Can't access it from the front drive. Please, let me know as soon as you find anything."

I nodded once and steered Fiona back out to the car.

I woke to a particularly loud roll of thunder. With a groan, I rolled over and felt for Fiona. The bed next to me was empty. Jerking upright, I looked around the loft, my eyes finally landing on the front door which was open a crack. Grabbing my gun, I made my way over to the door and eased it open, peering out into the rain.

A slim figure sat halfway down the steps, leaning against the railing. Soaked clothes clung to her frame. With a sigh of relief, I set my gun on the table by the door and slipped out. Fiona turned as I made my way down the stairs, staring up at me. She slid over, and I sat down next to her.

"You're soaking wet."

"I couldn't breathe in there." She replied, returning her cheek to the railing.

"You know, if lightning hits anywhere near here, you'll be fried."

"So will you."

"Fi, look at me." I turned her to face me and shoved her sodden hair from her face. "Look at me."

Finally she raised her eyes to meet mine. I caressed her cheek gently.

"You are worrying me, Fi."

She took in a sharp breath.

"Yes. I said it. You are worrying me. What happened, in prison?"

"I… Michael, I don't want to talk about it."

"Fi." I pulled her to her feet. "Tell me."

She shook her head stubbornly, but let me guide her back up the stairs into the loft. I pushed her onto the foot of the bed and hurried into the bathroom to grab a pair of towels. When I came back, Fiona had bent over and buried her face into her hands. Wrapping one of the towels around her shoulders, I pulled her against me.

"When I was there, I had dreams about coming back here, back to you." She said softly. "When Vaughn took you, and when you were taken to D.C., I had nightmares about things happening to you. Why I am having nightmares about what happened, in Fort Lauderdale?"

"Because you were in prison, Fi." I stroked her hair.

"I hate nightmares." She muttered and wiped at her eyes. "Guys must have it so much easier at prison. Female guards are never in the male prisons, and even if they were, they couldn't get the prisoners down to an abandoned basement."

I nodded once and kissed Fiona's temple. She sighed and leaned against me, and then sat up. Wrinkling her nose at me, she grabbed the other towel and shoved it in my face. Smiling, I draped it around my shoulders and pulled her back against me. Her hand slid into mine, and she resettled her cheek against my shoulder.

"I hate girls. Hate the pretty airheads who don't know how to take care of themselves. How can someone always play the damsel role? It seems so boring. Always being rescued. But I hate the stupid ones too. The ones who get caught doing simple crimes, or who mess themselves up with drugs. Those ones are just plain mean."

"And then the guards got mean because you wouldn't let the inmates control you." I finished. "So, the bruises were from them. What else did they do, other than the basement?"

Abandoned basements wouldn't have working security cameras. Fiona wouldn't keep talking if I pressed the basement issue, and I was fairly certain that I knew what had happened. Something that I wasn't even sure that I wanted to know about. But she was talking about what had happened.

"They have nightsticks. The guards like to swing them at people's heads. I don't like things coming at my heads, and blocked them with my arms. Rest of the time, they aimed at my ribs. Or legs. I've been out of casts for… three days now. Couldn't seem to keep myself out of trouble of the head-aiming kind for more than a week after getting an arm free."

I held her tighter for a moment, and rose to my feet, Fiona still in my arms. Slowly, I pulled off her sodden pajamas and left them in a heap on the floor before guiding her back to the bed. She got in slowly, and watched me through narrowed eyes as I slid carefully under the covers, my own wet sweatpants left on the floor to dry.

"I'm not in the mood for reconnecting." She warned, her voice tense.

"I know. You'll get sick if you wear those wet clothes to bed."

"No one has actually proven that, Michael. And I could have changed." She replied tartly.

Then she slid closer to me, and tucked her head against my arm. I wrapped my arm around her, squeezing her shoulder gently and Fiona inched closer.

"I'm not going to let that happen to you again, Fi." I said softly.

For a while, she didn't reply. "I know." Fiona murmured after I had grown certain that she was already asleep. "I know."


	6. Chapter 6

**Fiona**

Something was resting heavily across my waist, and I could feel sweat trickling along my skin. Dragging my eyes open, I saw someone else's chest.

I shot upright, the arm falling away from me. Michael mumbled something and stirred. He slowly opened his eyes and looked up at me. Raking my hair back from my face, I let out a slow breath. It was just Michael. No one else. I was fine.

"you okay?" He asked softly, wrapping his fingers around the arm I was using to keep myself upright.

Nodding, I lay back down against him and dragged the sheet up. I wasn't in prison, I was in Michael's loft. I took another breath, and Michael slid his arm back around my waist. The night before came back, crying in Michael's arms, telling him what had happened.

"I'm fine." I made myself lie, and took in another breath.

The door swung open, and Michael and I both sat up. Clutching the sheet over my chest, I slid one hand under my pillow for my gun. It wasn't there. Glancing over, I saw Michael pointing my gun at the door, and at Sam.

"ummm… Right. If you two need alone time, you should lock the door." He said, gingerly walking past us to set a folder onto the counter. "I'm going to get… a beer… Or two… and step out onto the balcony. Come and get me when you're decent."

"I'm always decent." I retorted as he eased outside. "You forgot to lock the door last night." I told Michael and slid out of the bed. "I'm borrowing one of your shirts."

"Why one of mine?"

"It's faster. Put on your pants so we can get Sam out of here sooner." I pulled open one of his drawers in the dresser and grabbed a shirt at random.

By the time I had slid into the shirt, pulled my hair out of the collar and turned around, Michael was up and pulling back on his sweatpants, his eyes locked on me. Smirking, I waited until his pants were all the way up before going to yank the balcony door open. Sam was already on his second beer, and started when the door opened. Widening my smirk, I turned back around and slid into the kitchen to grab a pair of yogurts from the fridge.

"What did you find out, Sam?" Michael asked, joining me.

"Well, Mary's mother hasn't used her phone in three weeks. Not to call Mary, nor to call her husband. Not even to call for a pizza. Which would be consistent if she was overseas. The carrier is Verizon, and they apparently don't do international plans, where you can use your phone overseas. "

"Did you check the GPS?" I asked, taking a bite of yogurt.

Sam stared at me.

"She's one of those rich women you like to date. And you used to date her. I doubt that she would be the type that would have a phone older than 2005. Probably not one older than 2010. So, it would have a GPS chip. Mary said that it was ringing during that first week? Means it was turned on. You turn your phone off if you are flying a normal flight."

"Meaning, not one of your friends in the acquisitions departments with one of their own water-planes." Sam retorted.

"Of course." I replied and stole a bite of Michael's yogurt.

"Well, yeah. I did look at the GPS. Stayed in one position for each of the calls that first week. Her home. Maybe she left the phone there?"

"And the grandmother?"

"Dead. No record of her living in Ireland. My buddy is still looking into her paternal grandmother. I never heard Julie talk about family in Ireland though."

"Well, then why don't Fi and I go and visit the step-father. We can claim to be police, or just concerned friends of Julie's. Are you up for it, Fi?" Michael asked, brushing a hand against my arm.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Michael sighed. "Sam, you keep looking at the Ireland thing. Fi and I'll get dressed and head over to the step-father's."

Sam nodded slowly, and left with his beer. With a sigh, I finished my yogurt and sauntered back over to the dresser to pull out clothes.

"Don't ask me if I'm up for anything, or okay in front of Sam again, Michael." I called, knowing he was right behind me. "I'll kill you if you do."

Michael slid his hands around my waist. "Glad that you're back Fi." He murmured.

Michael pulled the charger to a stop across the street from a towering white house that probably had a dozen bedrooms. A ten-foot high wrought iron fence ran around the property with no rocks nearby that would help in scaling it. At the end of a concrete driveway that wrapped around the back of the house was a gate, latched with only a bike chain and paddle lock.

I sauntered up to it, and flipped it over. "I think that the FBI kept my lock-pick set." I announced to no one in particular, and pushed on the gate.

It wouldn't open far enough for me to squeeze through. With a sigh, I pulled a bobby pin out of my hair and unbent it. Flicking a glance at Michael, I slid the end into the lock and pulled another pin out of my hair, also forcing it straight.

"I suppose I'll have to get you a new one then." Michael said, leaning slightly against the gate.

His body was positioned to block the sight of my hands from anyone who might pass on the street. Biting my lower lip, I wiggled the pins around, trying to catch the lock and pop it open. A car passed slowly, and I took in a breath. It kept going, and a moment later the lock clicked open.

"Let's go." I murmured, slipping the pins into my pocket.

We slipped through the gate, and Michael refastened the chain and lock behind us. Slipping my hands into the pockets of my jeans, I led the way through the thick trees that lined this side of the fence, making my way back to the garage. It sat just outside a fenced in pool, that was overlooked by a guest house that was a miniature version of the real one.

Two cars were inside, a red Jaguar, and a yellow Porche.

"Mary said the Jaguar is her mother's, and the Porche belongs to her step-father." Michael murmured in my ear. "To her knowledge, those are the only vehicles that are here. Except maybe the housekeepers, but she doesn't appear to be in today."

I nodded, and strode right up to the front door, ignoring Michael's attempts to stop me. Straighning my shoulders, I knocked hard. Michael caught up to me, and had just enough time to demand what I was doing before the door swung open. A man in his mid-fourties stood in the doorway, scowling down at us.

"Who the hell are you?" He demanded, in a much angrier tone that Michael's demand had come in.

"Hi, I'm Maried McBride." I said sweetly, adopting my former Irish accent again. "I'm from Kerry, in Ireland. Juliana's my cousin. Is she here? I wanted to come in person, to talk to her about what happened. She knew our Nan better than me, so I wanted to get her input for the funeral."

"Then call her." He made an attempt to shut the door.

I stuck my foot in the way. "See, Nan isn't dead yet. She's barely hangin' on. And she loved Juliana so much. Since I couldn't get a hold of Juliana, I thought I'd try and come here, to see if I could get her in person. She's always been such a busy person."

"And who's he?" He nodded at Michael.

"He's Sean Kelly. Nan's attorney. There is this thing with her will, and Nan wants Juliana to be there in person for the will reading, once she passes on. Apparently, Nan wants to leave this huge sum of money to Juliana, so she asked Sean to come with me."

The man paused. "Come in then."

He stepped back to let us in. As we walked down the wide hallway, Michael grabbed my arm.

"Maried McBride from Kerry? We don't even know if that's the region he used in his story."

"People think of three places when you talk about Ireland, most times. Belfast, Dublin, and the ring of Kerry." I hissed back. "Shut up and act like an attorney, will you?"

"Is Mrs. Roberts home?" Michael asked, slipping into his 'Michael McBride' voice. "I really can't discuss this information with anyone but her.

"She's with the girl up in Maine. Takes her there every year." He growled.

"The girl?" Michael pressed.

"Her daughter." He rumbled. "She usually turns off her phone for these trips. I have a number that I can reach her, for emergenices."

"Can I have it? I'm sure that Ms. McBride would love to speak with her cousin, they haven't seen each other in years."

"No."

"When will Juliana be back?" I asked, switching tactics. Unless there was another daughter, he was lying again.

"End of the summer. Give me your information, and I'll have her call you."

"sorry, but I am not allowed to divulge that information to anyone but Mrs. Roberts." Michael stood. "Come on, Ms. McBride, we should go."

Michael grabbed my elbow and steered me from the house, ignoring the man's attempts to stop us. He didn't stop until we had gotten to the fence, which was out of site from the front door, and tapped his foot impatiently while I slid my bobby pins back into the lock.


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Student teaching has been eating me alive. Additionally, I have no idea where this is going anymore, so it may be a while before I update again. Thanks to all of you for standing by me while I get this figured out, and for all of your lovely comments!**

**Michael**

I dragged Fiona back to the charger when she got the lock open the second time. Pushing her into the passenger seat, I leapt over the hood and threw myself behind the wheel. As I threw the car into gear, the man came running down the driveway with a shotgun in his hand.

"Oh? That's an odd reaction to people who come claiming they have money." Fi commented, reaching for the glove box.

I slammed on the gas pedal and fled down the street, ignoring the shots that followed us. Not even the bullet shattering the rear window made me slow down until I was sure that we were clear.

"Right. Not going back there for a bit." I sigh. "Did you get the bug planted?"

"Of course. Slipped it into the remote while you were prattling on about needing to get a hold of her."

"And he didn't notice you?"

"He was looking at you." She shrugged. "Anyway, we know one thing. He knows where she is, and isn't telling. I say we nab him, drag him back to the loft or to your mother's garage and let me-"

"Fi, we are not going to torture him."

"Not even a little?"

"No." I ignored the look she gave me. "We don't know for sure that he isn't innocent."

"He shot at us."

"Yes. But what if someone else is holding his wife hostage?"

"For three weeks? Michael, that is stupid."

I slid my hand onto her knee, watching the traffic stopped in front of us. "Fi, right after the FBI took you into custody, I was certain that I wouldn't get you back, no matter what I talked to Agent Pierce about. I also didn't think that she would really believe me." I sighed.

"That's sweet. So?"

"So," I said, glaring at her. "Nothing is impossible Fi."

"Whatever. So now what are we going to do? That idiot will probably do something even more stupid if we go back there."

"Call Sam. Have him meet us at Mary's. I want to get her take on how her step-father reacted to us."

Fiona sighed, but pulled out her phone to pass on the message. A half hour later, we made it through the traffic and onto the other side of town, where another neighborhood of manicured lawns and guesthouses sprawled down towards the beach.

"That is a lovely view." She murmured, getting out of the car.

"You can see the ocean from the balcony at the loft. Sort of."

"No, that's the waterway."

"If you want a nice view, I can take you to a hotel with an ocean view." I brushed her hair back from her face.

Fiona smiled. "You can't afford that." She rose up onto her toes and brushed her lips against mine. "But thanks."

Sam pulled up behind me and Fiona dropped back to her feet, the smile fading from her face. Exchanging looks with Sam, I slid an arm around her shoulders and led the way up to the glass doors. After several minutes of waiting, a woman near my mother's age answered the bell.

"We're here to see Mary and Jim." I said, giving her a wide smile.

"Follow me." She said stiffly, not returning the smile.

Shrugging, I stepped into the house after her and glanced around. Marble floors, a marble staircase with what I thought to be a gold plated hand-rail. Whoever Jim's parents were, they were not afraid to flaunt their wealth. There was probably a state-of-the-art security system installed, though I hadn't seen any indication of one. Some sort of silent alarm or something, where only those who knew about it could disarm it. If Fiona got her hands onto the security system, she would love taking it apart to see if she could replicate it and at the same time, figure out a way to bypass it.

We were led into an expansive back yard, one side of which was dominated by a full length swimming pool. The back fence sat at the edge of a cliff, with the ocean glittering beyond. Views like that were expensive, particularly at a hotel.

Both of the kids sat on the edge of the pool, their legs dangling into the water. As we drew closer, I saw that Mary was strapped into some sort of brace made up of metal rods and plastic cuffs. Jeff rose to his feet and helped Mary to stand and shuffle the three steps to where the wheelchair waited. He nodded to the housekeeper, who turned and marched back into the house.

"thank you for coming out so soon." Jeff said, motioning to the table as he sat. "Please, sit."

"I've got bad news, Mary." Sam said, taking a seat.

She nodded slowly, the color draining from her face. I resisted the urge to sigh. Telling the girl the bad news first was certainly not the route I would have taken. No matter how strong she had acted the previous day, Mary was just a young girl, worried about her mother.

"Sam, don't be an idiot." Fiona snapped. "Mary, we didn't meet yesterday. I'm Fiona, and apparently I'm the only sane one here. We haven't located your Mum yet, but I believe you are right, that she is missing, and your stepfather has something to do with it. What kind of car does she drive?"

Mary blinked. "Umm… A Lexus?"

"Well, her car is in the garage, which would be consistent with her going on a trip where she wouldn't need it.

"How would your stepfather act, do you think, if someone were to go to him looking for your mum, claiming to have a relatives inheritance?"

"He'd probably try to get the money." Mary murmured.

"So he wouldn't chase the money-offerers out with a gun."

"A gun? No way. Mother always had… has had… a thing against guns. She wouldn't even let Sam bring his into the house, and insisted that he lock it in the glove-box of his car when he came over." Mary stared at Fiona. "Why, what did you do?"

I gave Fiona a look. "We went over to speak with him, pretending to be handlers of your mother's Irish grandmother's estate with money for Julie."

"But we don't have family in Ireland."

"Exactly. If you didn't know of the family, and they did exist – and if your Mum had gone over to see them, he would have called us out on the lie. But he lied about where she is to us, and tried to shoot us. So, therefore, he knows where your mother is." Fiona grinned triumphantly.

"Hate to ruin your joy, Fiona, but I looked into Julie's phone records this morning while you were getting shot at. Up until her phone was turned off, or ran out of power two weeks ago, it was pinging from the same cell tower out near the Everglades."


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** I know that Fanfiction has issues with a chapter just being an author's note, so there will be some content at the end of this. Sadly to say, that the past several months have not gone well at all (starting from around the last update or soon after), and I went into a period where I didn't write. During that time, the ideas that I had for this story seem to have shrivled away. With the premiere of the new season, I don't feel like I can really try and force things to continue on this, because of how far off it got from the actual story. That being said, you may see a revisit to the story line without Fi's issues from jail sometime in the future, but for now, I am going to mark this as complete since I can't continue. I hope to continue with Burn Notice fics in the future, but in the mean time, you can enjoy my Flashpoint fic. Sorry to not continue this, I was also looking forward to see how Fi resolved her jail-abuse issues.

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><p><strong>Fiona<strong>

The girl paled.

"Everglades?" She whispered.

"That doesn't mean anything. Her phone could have been dumped out there. Besides, there isn't good reception in the Everglades, she's probably in some dinky little town just outside of them. Right Sam?" I glared at him.

"Er, right." Sam nodded.

Michael's phone rang. He rose and walked around the pool.

"There are plenty of grimy hotels in dinky towns like that." I continued. "She could be being held there."

"Fi, I don't think your helping much." Sam said slowly.

Michael came back to the table.

"Fi, we've got to go. Dani wants to see you. Sam, can you look into where Julie might have been?"

I sighed and rose. "I thought that you were her plaything. Not me." I grumbled to Michael and walked with him back to the Charger. Sam stayed behind.

"She just wants to talk, Fi. She's why you're out."

"I know, Michael." I flopped dramatically into the passenger seat. "That doesn't mean I have to like it."

"Would you rather have stayed in prison? Where people where hurting you on purpose?"

"Of course not. Ansem got me in there, and I was waiting for you and the CIA to nab him so I could get out. "

"And they have him. In CIA prison. Which didn't help getting you out since Agent Pierce and the CIA didn't want to risk Ansem in federal prison. He's much to slippery for that."

Michael pulled into the parking lot across from the building that the CIA was using for their Miami offices. We walked into the air-conditioned lobby and I shoved my sunglasses up on top of my head. One arm around my waist, Michael directed me up the elevator and to Agent Pierce's office.

"Miss Glennanne." Agent Pierce pulled off her glasses and looked at me.

"Agent Pierce." I returned, ignoring the chair she motioned towards.

"Let's cut right to the chase, shall we? You and Michael are going to do a job for me. There is this man, Tavian October. Rich, life of the party, and an arms dealer."

I wanted to ask what is wrong with arms-dealing, but I kept my mouth shut. Agent Pierce was hardly ever in a joking mood from what I had seen of her. It wouldn't have surprised me if she didn't have a funny bone in her body.

"You two are to approach him as interested customers. Find out where he is storing his guns after he gets in a shipment, and set off a tracker."

"And once we have him tied up with a ribbon and a bow, then what? The CIA takes him away? I didn't realize the CIA was that interested in arms dealers."

"He is selling guns internationally, and locally to people who are here illegally."

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><p><strong>AN cont:** and that is where the plot-line died. Sorry for the weird cliffhanger.


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